


Drabble Bomb [Feb 2018]

by metrophobic



Series: SP Drabble Bombs [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Canon Creek, Fluff and Humor, Genderfluid Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-22 06:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrophobic/pseuds/metrophobic
Summary: My pieces for this month's South Park Drabble Bomb.





	1. Day 4 - PDA

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm diving into the next South Park Drabble Bomb! These will likely be posted out of order on here because I'm writing them as the inspiration strikes. Relevant tags/pairings will be added as they apply.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P.C. Principal teaches the school's #1 power couple an important lesson about respecting limits.
> 
> (Tweek/Craig)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potentially NSFW due to language.

“I don’t owe you  _shit!_ ”

“Yes you  _do_ , buttlicker!”

“No I  _don’t!_ ”

“Yes,” and it was Tweek who threw the first punch, “you  _do!_ ” A crowd was forming around them, rather quickly, which was pretty much the norm at school whenever two scrappy kids decided to throw down in the middle of the hallway. Craig snarled and shoved him back.

“You can just  _build it again!_ Stop acting like a fucking  _baby!_ ”

“ _No!_ ” Tweek screeched, flying at him. This time Craig kicked him in the shin,  _hard_ , and Tweek’s fist landed on his jaw. “I spent  _thirteen hours_ on that thing!” He scrabbled for Craig’s jacket collar and gripped it tight. “Say you’re  _sorry!_ ”

“If you-- god  _damn it!_ ” Craig shoved the other boy so hard he stumbled back a few paces, and he took the opportunity to leap at him, knocking him to the ground. “If you didn’t leave so much crap all over your room, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“ _Nrghh!_ This is  _your_ fault! Stop trying to deflect the blame onto  _me!_ ” Tweek launched himself forward again, and Craig swore loudly when a set of knuckles slammed into his eye. That was definitely going to leave a bruise. Tweek was way better at throwing punches than he was. He learned that the hard way in shop class last year.

“Clean your fucking  _room_ , you dumb-- pig!” was all Craig could think to hurl back. Tweek grabbed him by the skull and tried to knee him in the face. Craig quickly twisted away and, in retaliation, socked his stupid batshit crazy boyfriend in the chest. Tweek coughed a couple of times and Craig felt a sudden flash of guilt, but then:

“Fuck you! I’m dumping your ass! How’s  _that_ for clean!?”

Craig let out a furious huff of breath through his nose. “I’m dumping your ass  _first!_ ”

“No, I’m dumping  _you_ first!” Tweek clambered to his feet and was rushing at him again, and Craig grabbed a fistful of his hair, swinging at him with the other hand.

“Boys.  _Boys!_ Stop screwin’ around!” The ring of spectators around them all groaned in unison--boys  _and_ girls and even some cissies, too--as they were separated, Mr. Mackey keeping a firm grip on Tweek’s disheveled shirt and Mr. Adler, Craig’s arm. Both of the quarreling lovebirds scowled at the other, and Craig lifted his finger.

“ _Agh!_ ” Tweek jerked in place and screamed back: “Fuck you  _too!_ ”

“Principal’s office  _now_ , young man, m’kay? And you too, Tweek!”

“He started it,” said Craig once they were seated side-by-side in the principal’s office. He was holding an ice pack to his sore eye, and Tweek had his arms crossed, pointedly refusing to look at him.

“No,  _he_ started it!”

“Okay, boys,” P.C. Principal said, almost in time with the reps he was pulling one-handed, dumbbell held solid in his grip. “So it looks like the three of us need to have a talk, you were beating up on each other in the hallway, correct?”

“ _He_ tried to beat up  _me!_ ” Craig defended hotly.

“Because  _he_ was being a fucking  _asshole!_ ”

“All right, calm down,” P.C. Principal interjected. “We don’t want to shame your relationship, this is a very inclusive school and we want to be respectful of everyone’s needs, even if your kink is not my kink.”

“ _Waugh!_ Our  _what?_ ”

“Now first of all, I need to make sure you boys understand the concept of ‘negotiation’. When you negotiate, you make sure that the other party is comfortable with what you plan to do to their body. That way, no one’s consent is violated.  _Comprendez-vous?_ ”

“Oh for  _fuck's sake,_ ” Craig groaned. Not this fucking bullshit again. “You already  _taught_ us this stuff!”

“No, no.” P.C. set down the dumbbell and picked up one of his hand weights, squeezing it between his thick fingers. “We did go over affirmative consent in this office earlier in the year, but now your relationship has progressed so we  _do_ need to move on to more appropriate concepts. Now did you or did you not engage in PDA in the hallway?”

“ _No!_ ” Tweek yelped at him.

“We hold hands sometimes,” Craig muttered, but he still refused to look over at Tweek, because he  _dumped him_ in front of  _everyone_ and so therefore he didn’t deserve the time of day anymore. Even if that made Craig’s chest hurt, comparable to the throbbing in his eye that was probably going to swell shut before the day was over.

“All right, it seems like you’re not on the same page when it comes to practicing kink, and that  _can_ cause psychological damage in a relationship if both parties aren’t aware of each other’s limits. First of all, we’re gonna explain the difference between soft limits and hard limits. Do you have a safe word?”

“A  _what?_ ” Now it was Craig’s turn to be confused.

“A safe word is a word that serves as a prearranged and unambiguous signal to end an activity, such as between a dominant and submissive sexual couple. It is entirely irrelevant in the context of a sexual situation so therefore when the safe word is uttered, the scene will end and no one’s consent is violated.”

Craig had absolutely no clue what the Hell their principal just said. Neither did Tweek, apparently, because they both sat there in tense silence, only occasionally broken by one of Tweek’s weird twitchy noises. He hated those stupid noises. They were  _not_ cute and he hated Tweek, too.

P.C. continued on. “A soft limit refers to something that a party may hesitate about or place strict conditions on, but for which they may still give informed consent. An example of a soft limit would be face slapping. Not everyone enjoys being slapped across the face, but maybe in the heat of the moment, your lover might be into it. They’ll express their enjoyment of said action, and that’s what we call enthusiastic consent.”

“I didn’t slap him,” Craig pointed out. “That’s how girls fight.”

“This is just an example, I’m not trying to kink shame anyone. Now, let’s say that Tweek decided to slap you across the face in a moment of passion, and you enjoyed it. This is where enthusiastic consent comes in. You would encourage him by saying something like, ‘thank you master, may I please have another?’ Let’s practice that.”

What the fuck. “No.”

“Do you want to be suspended!? This is important! We can’t have kinksters running around our school violating everyone’s consent!”

“God damn it,” said Craig. He drew in a deep breath, and ground out without any emotion whatsoever: “Thank you master, may I please have another.”

“No you may  _not!_ ” Tweek shouted back at him.

“Yes, very good, Tweek. I can tell that you are familiar with your role as a dominant. Now let’s apply the proper use of a safe word. Frankly I’m rather concerned with the fact that you practice kink and do not have a safe word, so we’re gonna come up with one right now. Think of a random word that you don’t foresee ever being used in a sexual context.”

More awkward silence stretched between them. Craig felt his hand--the one not currently nursing his eye (godfucking _damnit_ Tweek you  _fucking_ piece of shit)--ball into a fist. He really just wanted to go the fuck home. Wasn’t this the part where P.C. Principal would slip them each a hundred dollar bill and wish them well? None of this bullshit was even making any sense. Adults were so fucking  _weird._

Tweek made a little squeaking sound. “Truck?” he blurted out.

“Yes, ‘truck’ is a good example of a word that isn’t used in a sexual situation, you are correct. Now, say you slapped Craig across the face and he decided that he didn’t like that, even if it was previously negotiated that he might enjoy being degraded under the right circumstances. You would then invoke the safe word. Let’s try it out.”

“God damn it,” Craig said again. “No. This is gay.”

“ _Did you just use a bigoted slur against same-sex attracted persons!?_ ” P.C. suddenly raised his voice. “That’s a week’s detention!”

“But I  _am gay!_ ” Craig hollered back. “I’m  _allowed_ to use it! I’m taking it back, like you taught us  _last_ week!” That was after he and Clyde were pulled in after trading insults back and forth, and Clyde decided to call him a ‘gay little pussy’, then insisted it was because Craig called him a ‘fag’ first.

“You’re right, you’re right,” P.C. had calmed himself again. “We don’t want to limit our LGBT-plus students in their ability to freely express themselves, so if you practice the safe word like you were requested, I  _will_ annul the detention I just assigned you.”

This was really, really weird. Craig still had absolutely no clue what was going on, but he really had no desire to be slapped either way, by Tweek or anyone else, so he muttered, “truck.”

“Can we go home now?” Tweek asked, practically vibrating in place.

“Not yet, we still have to learn about hard limits,” said P.C. Principal. “Now, Tweek, say you would really like to fist your boyfriend, but Craig just isn’t into getting a hand shoved up his asshole, regardless of the circumstances. How do you think that would be expressed?”

 

* * *

 

“Well,” Craig said after they left the office, “that was weird.” He neatly folded up the $100 bill their principal had handed each of them and shoved it into his coat pocket.

“ _Ngh!_ I-I’ll say.” Tweek still wasn’t looking at him, his cheeks bright pink. It was actually kind of-- no, it wasn’t. It wasn’t adorable. He hated Tweek. Stupid fucking asshole and his pigsty room, blaming  _Craig_ for tripping over one of his model airplanes and breaking his stupid LEGO robot. Who the fuck cares that Craig wasn’t paying attention to where he was going? Tweek shouldn’t have left all his stupid shit lying around.

This was all  _his_ fault.

Craig started to leave.

“Wait,  _agh_ ,  _Craig!_ ”

“What.”

Tweek tugged at the buttons on his shirt. “I think we have stuff at my house.  _Ngh!_ For your eye.”

“Okay,” Craig replied. “But you broke up, so I don’t wanna come over to your house anymore.”

“You were a jerk!” Tweek retorted. “ _Nnnnn--_ I spent  _forever_ trying to get my robot to look right, and you destroyed it in a matter of  _seconds!_ You  _know_ how long that shit takes!”

He was right, of course. He usually managed to be right. Craig fucking hated that, almost as much as he hated him. “Well,” he said, and was unable to come up with anything. “You… you broke up. So, bye.”

“ _Rrrrrgh!_ Jesus  _Christ,_ you’re so fucking stupid--! Fine, I won’t break up! But you gotta help me redo it, man! Right  _now!_ ”

“All right, Tweek,” Craig said definitively, like he was the one in control of this situation. He cautiously reached out for his hand. Since they were boyfriends again, and everything, so it was the right thing to do.

“Every last LEGO!” Tweek huffed at him. “ _Every_ last one!”

“Every last one,” Craig repeated. “Okay. But I’m cleaning your room first. That place is a shithole.”

“ _Nnh!_  Fine!” Tweek finally took hold of his hand, and squeezed it. It gave Craig that weird annoying thing that happened sometimes, where his stomach and chest felt like they were full of dandelions or hamsters or something. Why didn’t their incompetent principal ever educate them on  _that_ , because he still couldn’t figure out the answer, and there was no way in Hell some stupid word like  _truck_  would be enough to make it go away.

He didn’t let go the entire time, not until they were in Tweek’s bathroom, and only so Tweek could get out the first aid kit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	2. Day 1 - Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig can only sweep certain shades of Kenny's identity under the rug for so long.
> 
> (Kenny/Craig)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's mostly tame but Kenny's language does get a bit NSFW at the end.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

There was no emotion in his voice when he said it, but Kenny knew better. Craig’s eyes tended to give everything away. And now they flared wide for a split second when they caught sight of Kenny’s approach before narrowing, as if they held nothing but contempt for the sight that lay before them.

“Nope,” Kenny answered, sickeningly cheerful but the lilt in her voice carried across what she hoped would be a clear message, too: _you fucking asshole._ She twirled a lock of golden hair around her fingers and giggled demurely, just for effect.

“Get out,” said Craig, firmly pointing toward the door. “I’m too busy to deal with your stupid bullshit right now.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Kenny said with a smile. “That’s why I made an appointment.” She made her way to the chair at Craig’s station, swishing her pink tulle skirts beneath her while she made a great show of delicately taking her seat in the salon chair, as if it were her throne. In some ways she knew it was, because she had all the power over Craig now, and he’d have to pry it from her sparkling, perfectly-manicured nails if he wanted to wrest it back.

He’d thrown quite the epic tantrum earlier. Craig’s boorish displays of anger tended to consist of low, tightly controlled tones and flaring nostrils, quiet storms brewing in his eyes; then Kenny would find some way in, some way to _dig_ and pull back the skin, and he’d fucking lose it. Shouting, advancing forward, knocking over the nearest knick-knack or even a small piece of furniture; and finally stomping out through a litany of curses, slamming the door behind him. He wanted _so_ badly to intimidate Kenny when he got pissed off enough, using his impressive height as an advantage, _snarling_ down at him (or _her_ )-- but it never worked, and that just served to piss him off even more.

 _I’m not fucking around here! You know I’m_ **_gay!_ ** _I can’t_ **_change that_ ** _for you, or_ **_anyone!_ **

_I still have a dick, dumbass._

_I don’t_ **_care!_ ** _I can’t be with someone who does this sick shit. You’re seriously fucked in the head._

_Come on, baby, just get your head under here and I’ll make you feel better._

She’d tugged on her skirts when she said it, and that was when Craig really hit the roof; he grabbed the nearest lamp and smashed it against the wall. Kenny actually laughed at him then, because she couldn’t help it. He was being utterly ridiculous. This was just as much a part of the things that made up _Kenny_ as everything else--even the things Craig wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ believe--and he knew, he fucking _knew_ even before they got together that Kenny had this facet to his personality. It wasn’t like he was planning on getting a sex change, for Christ’s sakes.

It was all well and good to go against society’s expectations and suck cock, take it up the ass from another guy, but heaven forbid if that same guy wanted to embrace their feminine side once in a while.

Craig was silent; he had no further rebuttal since it was plain obvious he didn’t want to lose his shit again like a child, not here in his workplace. He was good at putting on airs of being professional, even if pretty much everyone--especially Kenny--knew he was actually a selfish, uptight prick. He bowed his head and fiddled with the array of brushes and colourful creams that filled his drawers. “Don’t even try to get passive aggressive on me, either, mister,” Kenny chided him. “I’ll know right away if you make me look like shit.”

Craig didn’t respond to that, not at first, not until he had the primer and he moved to position himself directly in front of Kenny’s face. “Don’t talk while I’m working,” he said, “or you’ll fuck it up.” He smelled good. Even his breath smelled good, like spearmint, which was probably intentional since he was getting up in people’s faces all day long. He _would_ be conscious about that, because he was always conscious about appearances. Kenny made a quiet noise of acknowledgement in her throat and closed her eyes.

She could feel the warmth of his hands as he worked on her, a light coating on her skin, transforming her face into a blank canvas so he could be the artist. Even without looking, Kenny easily anticipated where Craig was going to touch her next, because she could feel the very shadows of his fingertips. She lightly sank her teeth into her bottom lip when Craig touched her closed eyelids, just barely, and Kenny heard him sigh--like he was annoyed--and when her lips parted again he touched up the primer there.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly, like he was talking to a child. Kenny didn’t say anything back, but she didn’t do it again.

The foundation came next. This was honestly the boring part, even when she was doing it herself. Kenny breathed out a sigh that she was certain brushed along Craig’s fingers, though he didn’t say anything, just patted all over her face with the soft spongy wedge in his hand. The cream felt cool on her skin; soothing, in a way. Not that there was really anything in her that needed to be soothed, not in her skin nor her soul. Because she knew Craig, and she knew his insecurities, and by the time they’d finish today some of those hang-ups would be exorcised entirely. Kenny was sure of it. The silence felt sweet, even if Craig might not have agreed.

Or maybe he did.

It was so quiet around them that she could hear him breathe, could hear every movement of his, the faint chatter of the other stylists and artists merely an ambient backdrop. There came a soft rattling when Craig reached for his desk. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said.

 _I usually do the blush next,_ Kenny almost said, but she’d been told to keep quiet, after all-- and so she did.

It didn’t tickle so much when she did it to herself, but it was different with Craig; the second the first brush ran along her eyelid, Kenny’s nose crinkled and she had to grip the seat to keep herself from involuntarily drawing her face away. Part of her expected Craig to be mean when he did this, like “accidentally” poke her in the eye or something. He had this evil, vindictive side to him that strangely enough, Kenny appreciated, even if it drove her up the wall sometimes. But he did nothing and said nothing, only carefully stroked the colour onto her eyelids, painting them. First it was their flat surfaces, which was bearable, but then it tickled again when Craig worked a smaller brush into the creases beneath her brow bones.

“Well,” Craig finally commented, brushing highlighter tones around Kenny’s finely-groomed eyebrows, “you did a good job here, so at least I didn’t have to wax or pluck them.” Kenny swallowed down the urge to laugh or even so much as give a smile, because then it would distort her face. Craig probably would have seized upon _that_ opportunity to be as cruel as he could get away with. Yet Kenny’s eyebrows were--as the kids say-- _on fleek_ , so he’d been foiled. Too bad, Craig. Too bad.

She didn’t respond to him and Craig said nothing further, only took a fluffier brush and swished it across Kenny’s eyelids, back and forth, blending the colours there so that they ran together seamlessly. Kenny felt anticipation prickle in her gut. She didn’t know what shades Craig picked out for her, and that was intentional. His fingers didn’t even shake as he carefully painted a straight line across the edges of her lashes, and when she felt it swoop upwards along the outer corners in meticulous little lines, she knew he was giving her tiny wings. It was enough to make her smile.

“Hold still,” Craig said, quiet and professional, like he was focused. Like Kenny was just another of his clients now, and not the guy who lived with him. Not the guy who shared his bed and fucked him and _got_ fucked, and who Craig had stormed out on that very morning because he woke up to find his boyfriend in a dress and it ruffled his gay little feathers. Kenny heard the faint wet noise of Craig’s tongue over his lips before the brushes returned to her face, running carefully along the dips in her cheeks, illuminating the fine bones there. Kenny always had a pretty face--regardless of whatever ‘mode’ he or she were in--and Craig never remembered the times when she was broken apart, stained, mangled beyond reason in the ways that not even makeup could hide. When she-- _he_ \--woke up in the morning fresh and new and Craig would be pissed, _hurt_ at her for disappearing like that, no amount of makeup could hide the blemishes that marred their lives. A life that should have been normal. Craig didn’t deserve any of the scars Kenny left behind, but he bore them anyway.

She’d been so lost in _his_ own thoughts that Kenny didn’t even realize Craig had finished with the blush until the first touch to her mouth. Subconsciously, she parted her lips for him, even though he hadn’t asked. “Stay like that,” Craig instructed anyway, and he wasn’t using a lipstick tube but a tiny brush there, too. He was so careful with it that she could practically feel him fill in every tiny crack, carefully outlining the smooth curve of her lower lip, then the soft bow-like shape up above, and filling them in, sweeping back and forth. It made her feel strangely delicate, like her entire face had become porcelain and one wrong touch would crack her open entirely. Even if she wouldn’t quite mind if Craig broke her entirely to pieces, Kenny forced herself to breathe through her nose, the tip of her tongue carefully pressed to the roof of her mouth, afraid that even the slightest breath between her lips would stir all the wrong things.

When the brush finally lifted away Kenny felt Craig’s fingertip on her then, carefully stroking across her bottom lip, a light feathery touch that almost wasn’t there at all; she knew that wasn’t part of the application. This was only confirmed when she leaned in, eyes barely slit open, and kissed him gently, because he didn’t even flinch but he _did_ kiss back, and his eyes were closed. So she did it again, and again, keeping it soft and light but it was Craig who pressed his mouth more firmly against hers, and then he was holding on to one of her shoulders.

“ _Wow,_ Craig,” some girl said as she passed by, halting in place so she could observe and remark, “I thought you were gay!” She had an apron on, so Kenny presumed she worked there, too.

“No shit,” Craig deadpanned back. “This is my boyfriend.”

“ _Oh._ ” His co-worker blinked a few times. “Oh, okay. Wow. You look so _different_ from the picture. You’re so _pretty!_ ” she gushed.

“Thanks, beautiful,” Kenny replied, and winked. The girl tittered to herself as she walked away. Craig took the brush in hand and carefully touched up Kenny’s mouth, then dabbed a napkin against his own lip. She’d stained them a warm pink. “Show me,” she finally said, even as Craig took up the mascara in hand and came close again.

“Hang on,” he replied. “We’re not done yet. Look up.” He carefully swabbed the tiny brush over Kenny’s long lashes--both the envy and delight of so many girls he knew--and Kenny blinked furiously when he pulled back. Craig took a powder puff and gently patted it over her face, sealing everything in. Then, without another word, he swiveled her chair around and stepped back so that Kenny could finally see herself in the mirror.

She didn’t even recognize her, the dainty young thing who stared back. Hues of purple dusted her eyelids, and pinks, and the dark winged outlines made her large blue eyes pop out even more. The way the light played around her eyes and touched her cheeks, it made her glow. The kiss hadn’t even wrecked her lips, though Craig _had_ fixed them before allowing her to look. Kenny brought up her hands and fanned out her fingers on the sides of her face, enjoying how it looked with the nails she’d gotten done before her arrival. Craig had obviously taken those into consideration, too, because it all matched perfectly.

“Holy shit,” Kenny said, and then laughed in spite of herself, because she couldn’t believe it. She thought she had her face nailed down whenever she decided to dress like this, but as usual, Craig knocked her out of the fucking water. “I almost feel guilty for what I’m gonna do to you later.”

“You’re welcome,” said Craig, as emotionless as he was when Kenny initially came in, but she knew better.

“You should clean up and come home with me,” she suggested. “I saw your notepad. I’m your last client today.”

“There’s still walk-in hours,” Craig replied quietly.

“Like I give a fuck.” Kenny leaned in closer so no one else would hear her. “Because when we get home, I’m pushing you up against the door, and then I’m gonna smear my lips all over your body. Your skin’s gonna be a goddamn _mess._ ”

Craig didn’t say or do anything except breathe in, slow and careful.

“It’ll be on your dick, too,” Kenny continued. “Maybe I’ll even be nice and kiss your ass.” She rubbed her hand over his clothed thigh, could feel the heat of him through his nicely-pressed slacks and that brought a smile to her face.

Craig swallowed thickly; she watched the bob of his Adam’s apple. “And then what.”

“Then…” She touched her chin carefully with a fingertip, like she had to think hard about it, even though she already knew full well what she wanted. “Then I’m gonna bend you over the couch, and make you spread your legs, and I’m gonna _fuck_ you.”

Craig’s eyes fluttered shut.

Kenny drew closer to him, real close, until her lips were a breath away from brushing against his ear. “ _Hard,”_ she whispered. “I’ll give it to you hard, sweet baby, and I’m not gonna take this off. ‘cause I know you love my cock, no matter who I am.”

Craig reached for her hand, thumb running briefly over the edges of her nails, where they met the tender skin of her cuticles.

“You can pull my wig off,” Kenny added, “when I take you in my mouth.”

“Give me ten minutes,” was all Craig had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	3. Day 5 - Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle's butthurt over a rejection from Stan, and Stan tries to get him back in the only way he knows how...
> 
> (Stan/Kyle)

It was 11:50pm. Late enough that most sane people--given that it was a Wednesday--would be asleep in bed. It was a school night, after all, and a work night for most. But even while most of the town slept, Kyle didn’t, bent over his laptop while he furiously typed away at the essay that wasn’t even due until Monday.

He hadn’t been able to sleep all week. Most of the students in his grade were excited with prom around the corner. It was impossible to avoid. Talk of everything floated through the halls and lunch tables, fragments of plans, the dresses the girls planned to wear, the rumours and breakups and stupid little unofficial contests of who had the best “promposal.” _That’s dumb,_ Clyde Donovan had said, but Kyle heard that at the last game in Denver, during halftime, the screens flashed Bebe Stevens’ name in bright lights and they actually filmed him carrying her off bridal-style when she said ‘yes’. It made Kyle want to cringe just thinking about it.

And he saw a few girls come up to Craig Tucker in the halls, only for him to wave them off in annoyance-- _that’s retarded, and you’re not our fag hags, I actually hate you so go away_ \--but then Kyle later heard that he ended up the one _getting_ “promposed to”. Tweek and Craig had been tense lately; they seemed like they were pretty much on the outs--  _finally_. Yet suddenly they were holding hands again and nuzzling all over the place and it was kind of revolting, as was what Kyle learned Tweek did: with some help he’d lit up Craig’s entire backyard by stringing little star-shaped lights everywhere, and lit candles, and apparently Craig cried or something. (Though, that last one Kyle heard from the Asian girls, so it probably wasn’t accurate. Kyle certainly didn’t believe it, because it was impossible: Craig didn’t even have a soul, so he was completely incapable of something like being moved to the point of tears. Embellishment always hung over their school like a fucking plague.)

Stupid, meaningless little things that meant nothing. Who got into the spirit of school functions, anyway? Token Black was renting a limousine for him and Wendy Testaburger and his friends, which consisted of the aforementioned couples along with Jimmy Valmer and Heidi Turner. They’d all been close-knit since grade school and it was weird, most people seemed to fragment and find their own crowds, their own _teams_. Kyle had long since broken apart from the strange obligation to include Eric Cartman in nearly everything he did, and Kenny, well, _Kenny_ never played to any tune but his own anyway. Only Stan remained from his childhood, and even that had become frayed lately. It didn’t make sense that a completely obnoxious, pretentious asshole like Craig would have lifelong friends _and_ a boyfriend who thought he hung the Moon, all the same people from their elementary years to _now_ when they were on the cusp of adulthood.

Kyle didn’t have any fancy angles up his sleeve or grandiose messages of love for Stan. His idea of a “promposal” was purchasing the tickets himself and then surprising Stan with them on one of their dates. Kyle could still remember the actual, physical feeling of his own smile burning out and his heart dropping into his stomach when Stan told him, wouldn’t even meet his gaze, _shit dude I meant to tell you, my entrance interview’s that day_. What could Kyle have possibly said to _that?_ Far be it for him to squash Stan’s dreams or expect him to rearrange his life for some _stupid_ , meaningless high school ritual that would mean nothing in the long run. His fucking parents didn’t even go to prom.

His dad, who was now a successful lawyer and the other person up at the same time; in his office, awash in paperwork. His dad, and his mom, who could barely stand each other, yet stuck around anyway out of obligation and tradition. Maybe Kyle would meet a nice Jewish girl in college, too, and they’d get married and have kids of their own eventually, and they’d grow to loathe each other through sickness and health and rich and poor, too.

He grit his teeth, felt the tears prickle in the corners of his eyes but he refused to let them fall, refused to even acknowledge them. It was after midnight at that point and Kyle had been so lost in his angry, bitter thoughts that he’d been staring at the blinking cursor on his screen for nearly twenty minutes. It was getting more and more difficult to concentrate, anyway, because someone was listening to shitty 80’s music outside, no regard for peace or common decency whatsoever.

 _Love,_  
_I get so lost, sometimes_  
_Days pass,  
__And this emptiness fills my heart …_  

Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? Or calling the police? It started off faint at first, like it was coming from down the street, growing louder on its approach. 

 _When I want to run away,_  
_I drive off in my car_  
_But whichever way I go,  
__I come back to the place you are …_  

Kyle finally couldn’t take it anymore. With a low growl to himself, he got up from his seat and went to the window, throwing it open with the intent to shout down at whomever was disturbing the peace with their godawful taste in music.

Only to be greeted by the sight of--yes, it was Stan, fucking _Stan_ \--standing in his front yard in a leather jacket, a boombox held over his head. A fucking _boombox._ Kyle didn’t even think those things existed anymore.

“What the Hell are you _doing?!_ ” he shouted.

 _All my instincts, they return_  
_And the grand facade, so soon will burn_  
(Stan called something back, something weird about steak that Kyle couldn’t understand.)  
_Without a noise, without my pride  
__I reach out from the inside …_  

“ _What?!_ ” Kyle yelled.

 _In your eyes_  
_The light, the heat_  
_In your eyes_  
_I am complete_  
(“Turn this shit _off!_ ” Kyle shouted, again.)  
_In your eyes_  
_I see the doorway to a thousand churches_  
_In your eyes  
__The resolution of all the fruitless sear--_

Stan finally lowered the damn thing and clicked it off. Somewhere nearby, a random dog barked. Kyle waited for his mother to come storming down the hallway, but it never came. Maybe she was grateful that Kyle had done the dirty work for her.

“I said I made a mistake!”

“Stan…” Kyle dragged his hand down his face and sighed, long-suffering, like he was fifty instead of eighteen. “Just get up here.” When Stan started to make a move toward the front door, Kyle yelled after him, “ _no,_ not there! I meant up through _here!_ ” If he came into the house that way, it really would wake up everyone else. Or maybe Kyle just longed for the thrill again, the anticipation of having his boyfriend sneak up into his bedroom window like they were part of some secret, powerful, forbidden romance that was _leagues_ more profound than a stupid overhyped power couple like Tweek and Craig.

Stan left the boombox sitting in the front yard and did exactly what he was told, climbing the tree by Kyle’s window. Kyle imagined the muscles shifting under his jacket. It was a very nice mental image indeed. He pushed his window open all the way and stepped back so Stan could drop down onto his floor. He coughed as he did so.

“I made a mistake,” he said again, sniffling a little. Was he fucking _crying?_ It looked like his eyes were dry, though. Kyle exhaled another sigh and reached over to shut his laptop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and folded his arms.

“For prom,” said Stan, awkwardly stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “I wanna go. I wanna go with _you,_ dude.”

“You can’t, Stan,” said Kyle. “You have that interview, remember?”

“That’s what I meant! I’m not gonna go. Fuck it.” He stepped forward then, and reached out like he wanted to take Kyle’s hands. Kyle was unmoving, unyielding.

Maybe he wanted to watch him squirm a little.

“We can’t go anyway,” Kyle said with a frown. “I already got a refund for the tickets.”

Stan actually looked upset by that. “So buy them again!”

“I _can’t_ ,” Kyle huffed. “It’s too late. Prom’s in a week. You might as well just go, Stan.”

“ _No!_ ” Stan dramatically grabbed him by the shoulders. It surprised Kyle so much that he dropped his arms. “Look, Kyle-- I can’t do it anyway. I can’t make it without you. I don’t wanna go to a place so far away that you might forget all about me. I can’t live without you, dude. You’re the love of my life.”

Kyle pretended like he didn’t feel the warmth cascading from his throat all the way down into his chest. “Stan, are you drunk?” He laughed a little, awkwardly. Stan furiously shook his head.

“No. I’m not drunk. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” He actually _did_ look like he was about to cry, then. “If we can’t go to prom then we’ll just do something else together, just you and me. We’re better than that whole school anyway. We’re better than _all_ of it put together!”

“Stan.” Kyle didn’t even know what to say, so he laughed again, and surged forward, leaning up on his tiptoes to catch his boyfriend’s face in his hands and plant a kiss right on the mouth. Stan grabbed him, too, and immediately deepened it, shoving his tongue past Kyle’s lips. Kyle squeaked in surprise. He didn’t taste anything bitter, at least; so Stan wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking. That was certainly a plus.

“I love you, Kyle.” He was still clutching at Kyle’s shirt.

“Yeah, okay,” Kyle said. “I love you too… I _guess._ ” But he was smiling. “I was lying, anyway. I didn’t get rid of the tickets yet.”

A tear rolled down Stan’s cheek. “So you’ll go? You’ll be my prom date?”

“Yeah, hell yeah, dude.” Kyle kissed him, kissed that tear right away, and felt a surge of triumph. “We have to go. We _have_ to show Tweek and Craig that they’re not the hottest couple at school. Fuck those assholes!”

“Yeah,” Stan said, but he didn’t sound like he really heard what Kyle said, throwing his arms around him and pushing his face down into Kyle’s hair. Kyle still really hated his hair, and right now it was untamed, no product after the shower he’d taken earlier, frizzing up all over the place. But Stan always seemed to enjoy it, kissing all over his head and breathing him in.

“Yeah,” Kyle said, more softly this time. “Dude, let’s make out.”

They did a lot more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious about the song... [click this ;)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3kFPBtc9BE)
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr!](http://metroph0bic.tumblr.com)


	4. Day 2 - Pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are now living in an age where breakups are never private anymore.
> 
> (Tweek/Craig)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide on what to write and then I was inspired by my homegirl rachhell's Facebook drabble, so I shamelessly copied her ;( (ilu)

**Craig Tucker** _is no longer in a relationship.  
_ April 16 at 10:53 PM

 **Clyde Donovan** lol that sucks

 **Craig Tucker** why is that lol

 **Clyde Donovan** I meant like an ironic lol

 **Craig Tucker** whatever

 **Wendy Testaburger** :( omg I’m so sorry! What the hell happened?

 **Stan Marsh** holy SHIT dude

 **Craig Tucker** It was a mutual decision.

 **Leopold Stotch** aww sorry to hear that buddy :(

 **Craig Tucker** I’m fine. He was holding me back anyway.

 **Eric Cartman** I CANT STOP CRYING

 **Eric Cartman** THIS IS SOOOO SADDDDD YOU GUYS

 **Eric Cartman** I CANT BELIEVE TWEEK AND CRAIG BROKE UP :(

 **Eric Cartman** YOU GUYS ISNT THIS THE SADDEST THING EVER??????

 **Kyle Broflovski** Shut the fuck up, fatass.

 **Eric Cartman** I’M JUST SO SAD U GUYS MY HEART IS BREAKING

 **Eric Cartman** haha you suck Craig.

 

 **Clyde Donovan > Tweek Tweak ** dude did you dump Craig or did he dump you????????  
April 17 at 12:36 PM

 **Tweek Tweak** wyh are you asking me this in PUBLIC??

 **Clyde Donovan** i dunno

 **Tweek Tweak** II dont understand why uyoi ask met his public when thers FACEBOOK MESSANGER JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

 **Clyde Donovan** but your scary

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 17 at 1:05 PM

[Stock image of a random “deep”-looking girl with the words: _Never lie to someone who trusts you, and never trust someone who lies to you._ ]

 

 **Craig Tucker** **  
** April 17 at 1:56 PM

I don’t fuck with you, you don’t fuck with me. :100: :100:

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 17 at 2:34 PM

[Stock black-and-white photo of a rusty bridge framed by trees, and the words:  
_So tell me,_  
_where shall I go?_  
_To the left,_  
_where nothing’s right?_  
_Or the right,  
where nothing’s left?_ ]

 **Leopold Stotch** :( chin up old pal

 **Craig Tucker** what? I’m fucking fine. I just liked the photo.

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 17 at 3:01 PM

TFW you fucking give 8 years of your life and it just means nothing in the end.

 **Kenny McCormick** CHEER UP EMO KID

 **Craig Tucker** suck my ass

 **Richard Tweak** If it’s any consolation, I’ve been weeping uncontrollably for the last five days! Your love is as pure as the driven snow, as beautiful as an Arizona sunset.

 **Craig Tucker** we broke up last night

 **Tweek Tweak** DADW TF?????

 **Craig Tucker** oh i see you unblocked me

 **Tweek Tweak** and i will agian if u dont stop

 **Tweek Tweak** it didnt mean ntohing

 **Craig Tucker** yeah right i bet you never actually loved me

 **Tweek Tweak** ur such a CHILD omg

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 17 at 3:32 PM

i used to be jealous of harry potter for being able to talk to snakes, but it turns out i’ve been doing it for years

 **Clyde Donovan** SICK BURN BRO LOL

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 18 at 8:32 AM

Irony: being made out to be a manipulative cheater only to have that very person turn around and become that exact thing many years later.

     **Tweek Tweak** WTF!!!!!i didnt CHEAT on oyu!!!

 **Tweek Tweak** stop spreADING LIEAS ABOUT ME!!!

 **Craig Tucker** I meant the manipulative part.

 **Tweek Tweak** we r going in diff directions craig i tlod you taht

 **Tweek Tweak** i dont know how many more tiems i have to say it

 **Tweek Tweak** jesuf uckin christ

 **Eric Cartman** I knew it was Tweek who dumped Craig!

 **Eric Cartman** hey **[Kyle Broflovski]** you owe me $10

 **Craig Tucker** wtf

 **Eric Cartman** Don’t Jew out on me now

 **Craig Tucker** get off my posts you disgusting pathetic fat piece of trash

 **Craig Tucker** who would fuck you?

 **Eric Cartman** haha you’re never going to kiss **[Tweek Tweak]** again, never going to feel his warm body pressed against yours under the moonlight, you must be so CRUSHED Craig, don’t worry you’re still my guy ilu

 **Eric Cartman** hey Craig remember when you guys fucked in the woods last year and everyone pretended not to know? Haha that was some great stuff

 **Eric Cartman** member when **[Tweek Tweak]** threw that surprise party for you??? That was so cool, it’s so sad that we’re not gonna have stuff like that anymore :(

 **Tweek Tweak** sTOP IT

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 21 at 3:48 AM

[Image of a single wilted rose lying on the ground, with the words: _Sometimes you just have to accept that nothing you do will make a difference_.]

 

 **Tweek Tweak** is at **Tweek Bros.  
** April 21 at 6:09 AM

[Image of a latte in a glossy, seafoam-green coffee mug; there’s a swan drawn on the surface of the foam in little intricate swirls] 

 **Bebe Stevens** omg thats sooooo pretty! Did u make that?

 **Tweek Tweak** yep ^_^

 **Tweek Tweak** [Another image of latte art: this time it’s a “kawaii” style kitty face]

 **Bebe Stevens** that’s so cute!!!!! Can u make me a flower?

 **Tweek Tweak** ok!!

 **Tweek Tweak** [Another photo with a flower drawn over the foam]

 **Bebe Stevens** u gotta teach me how to do that!!! Its so cool!!

 **Tweek Tweak** come by & i will!! Its slow 2day

**Eric Cartman [Craig Tucker]**

**Tweek Tweak** whyd u tag craig

 **Tweek Tweak** wtf

 

 **Tweek Tweak  
** April 21 at 2:56 PM

Im so excited to be taking ICE SKATING LESSONS!!! **[Bebe Stevens]** is the best teacher!!!^^ 

 **Bebe Stevens** & ur a great student ;)

**Eric Cartman [Craig Tucker]**

**Tweek Tweak** why do u keep doign that????

 **Craig Tucker** wow

 **Craig Tucker** nowteh truth comess out

 **Tweek Tweak** WTF R U DRUNK??? GET OFF MY POSTS

 **Bebe Stevens** O.o

 **Tweek Tweak** shes gAY u prick

 **Bebe Stevens** awkward………

 **Tweek Tweak** -_- im so sorry

 **Bebe Stevens** its ok sweety!!

 **Craig Tucker** fuking whore

 **Tweek Tweak** ok that dodes it dO NOT TALK TO MY FRIENDS LIKE THAT CRAIG

 **Craig Tucker** i mean you

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 21 at 3:14 PM

some people just cant handle the truth.

     **Clyde Donovan** oh shit what happened bro???

 **Craig Tucker** lol just told someone the truth about themselves and they blocked me

 **Craig Tucker** so fucking immature

 **Clyde Donovan** LOL sounds like a loser!!!!

 **Craig Tucker** yep. Total loser.

 

 **Craig Tucker  
** April 22 at 2:43 AM

yep i sure am fucking drunk and ou cant tell me to do shit anymore.

     **Eric Cartman** Weren’t you drunk earlier? Day drinking? Wow, you must be pretty messed up over Tweek dumping you!

 **Craig Tucker** i dont give a fucking shit about tweek

 **Craig Tucker** he can go die for all i care

 **Craig Tucker** im just fed up with peopl telling me what 2 do

 **Craig Tucker** fuck that shit

 **Eric Cartman** Yeah! Who cares about that asshole anyway? LOL look at this shit

 **Eric Cartman** [Image: a screenshot of…

 **Tweek Tweak  
**     April 22 at 2:24 AM

    you know what i did fucking love u i alwys did i STILL DO but we just arent right fr each other & this just proves it the way ur acting u dumb FUCK i would have fucking moved mntns for u and evrything but u dont appreciate a FCKING THING & cant even suport me when i hld every moment of ours like stars & just like stars they BURN OUT & thers nothing left in my sky anymore so go ahead and maek e the fcking VILLAIN i dont cre anymoer ]

 **Eric Cartman** WHEW what a psycho! He deleted it immediately but I’m always looking out for my favourite pal ;)

 **Craig Tucker** yeah fuckin psycho guess i dodged a bullet

 

 **Craig Tucker** _is now in a relationship with_ **Tweek Tweak**.  
April 26 at 12:35 PM


	5. Day 3 - Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek has a secret admirer. He can't handle that kind of pressure.
> 
> (Tweek/????)..... Gotta read the whole thing to the very end. ;)

_Dearest Tweek,_

_How I long for your flaxen hair,  
_ _Your eyes like the sea.  
_ _I wonder if your skin  
_ _Is as soft as it looks.  
_ _If your lips  
_ _Are as kissable as they look._

_Love,_

_Your Secret Admirer_

 

For a moment, he didn’t even know what to do. What to say. What to _think._ His hands shook as he read over the strange words again. Something in his stomach lurched and Tweek crumpled the thing up, but he didn’t toss it away; instead, he shoved it into his apron pocket.

And that was when Craig walked in.

“ _Craig!_ ” Tweek shouted; it was not a joyous sound, and he knew Craig immediately picked up on that. He used the tone that he often used when he was about to give Craig a good tongue-lashing. Yet Craig seemed undeterred by this, since he had no problem walking up to the counter to stare at him.

“What,” he asked.

“Did you _send_ me this?”

“Send you what.” Craig already had a prominent lisp. But with the mess of metal in his mouth it was made even worse. This, complemented nicely by the acne on his cheeks and forehead, his gangly limbs, and the warble in his voice that threatened to dip lower-- all of it made him quite the poster child for awkward thirteen-year-olds everywhere. He casually scratched at the back of his head, greasy hair stuffed up under his hat.

Everyone said that it was because of the headgear that Tweek broke up with him. That simply wasn’t true. It was because that headgear turned him into a fucking asshole, an even worse one than the reputation that preceded him. Craig had turned into an insecure, whiny prick who would lash out if Tweek so much as looked at him for more than five seconds. So, Tweek finally got sick of it, and dumped his ass after a year of putting up with that shit. They were twelve at the time, and Stan understood when it happened. “I get ya, buddy,” he said one day at lunch. It took almost another year before the headgear came off and that’s when the acne started happening, rising up on his skin in clusters.

They stayed friends. Tweek still cared about him. It wasn’t like puberty was kind to him, either. He also had acne to deal with, and unlike Craig he didn’t have the willpower to stop picking at his face. He was also fat. Maybe not as fat as Cartman or even Clyde, but his tummy always hung out over his shorts and jiggled when he was forced to run in gym class-- along with his chest. He was getting little man-boobs and he fucking hated them. So, he couldn’t fault Craig for suddenly getting beaten with the ugly stick.

“ _Hah!_ If you sent it,” Tweek growled, fixing his friend with a glare, “y-you’d know what I’m talking about!”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about, dude.”

“This stupid love letter!” Tweek yanked it out of his pocket and shoved it in Craig’s face. “ _Ah!_ Look, asshole, if you want me back you should just _say so_.”

“I don’t want you back, Tweek.” Craig read over the letter. His fingers tightened around the edges of the page. “I didn’t write this,” he said, and tore it in half.

“ _Waugh! Stop!_ ” Tweek snatched it out of Craig’s hands and stuffed it back into his pocket. “ _Nrgh_ , you can’t just fuck with other people’s _shit_ , you jerk!”

“This is dumb,” said Craig. “Who even writes shit like this.” But Tweek could see his face turning red. He jabbed an accusing finger right in Craig’s face.

“Liar!” he said. “ _Ngh_ , you’re blushing, I can tell you’re lying-- just cut the bullshit, Craig!”

“I’m _not lying!_ ” Craig raised his voice. It always got more nasal and dorky when he did that. A few other people turned and stared at them. He flipped them all off. Tweek rolled his eyes.

“ _Fine,_ Craig. Fine. Whatever you say. _Nnngh!_ What do you want?”

“Nothing. I changed my mind. Bye.” Craig turned his back on him, and walked out, without further ado.

Perhaps Tweek was the one desperately holding onto a lie. He frowned, and felt his whole body start to shake from the stress, tremors coursing right through him. Raking his hands through his hair, he tried to think about who else it could possibly be. One of the girls? Did girls write shit like that? It certainly seemed flowery enough. But it was also written like _he_ was a girl, and that irritated him most of all.

“I don’t have _flaxen hair_ ,” he said angrily to the espresso machine. “ _Nnnggh._ I don’t have _soft skin._ _Gah!_ Who even writes that shit!?” He tugged so hard at his hair in frustration that he felt a few strands come out. Great, just great, perfect, fantastic. So it was back to _that_ , wasn’t it.

 

* * *

 

There was another one the following day. Tweek found it carefully taped under the counter. “Oh, _god_ ,” he said. “Not _again!_ God damn it, Craig…” He opened the envelope--which was pink and had stupid little lace hearts on the edges, even a heart sticker sealing it shut--and read the note.

 

_To my angel,_

_I wish you were mine. You hold the key to my heart. I can’t stop thinking about you. I would treat you so much better than that asshole Craig did. You are the most beautiful boy in the whole school._

_Love,_

_The Secret_

 

“ _Auuuugh!_ ” Now it was Tweek this time who tore up the letter: he carefully folded it up, put it right back in the envelope, sealed it shut with its still-sticky seal, and tore it into pieces right there at the cash register. Then he threw them all onto the floor and screamed again. His father came rushing out from the back.

“Tweek! What’s the matter, son!? Did you forget your fidget spinner again?” He shouted this, and quickly wiped at his nose with a loud sniffle. “You know how you get without your fidget spinners! Do I need to call your mother?!”

His father’s yelling was only stressing him out further. Tweek shrieked again, shaking his head with wide eyes. There was _no way in Hell_ his Dad was going to hear about this. Given how he acted over his previous relationship with Craig… oh, god. He didn’t even want to think about it, not _now!_

“Just drink some coffee, son!” said Richard, and reached out to comfortingly rub his back. “Then you’ll feel all better! I’ll be in the back if you need me!”

He did just that, furiously slurping away at his venti-sized house blend, busying himself with making drinks whenever more customers came up. No one said anything about the strange, baby-pink confetti lying scattered in front of the counter. At one point, Richard came out and swept it clean. Then he swept the cafe. Over and over, and over.

 

* * *

  

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!”

A pair of nasal voices rang out in the hall, just before lunch. Tweek scrambled to get a good view of the fight that was apparently brewing. Craig and Clyde were just in the pushing stages right then, taking turns knocking each other into the lockers. Craig always fought like a goddamn pussy. Tweek still had the little scars on the back of his right knuckles from when he knocked one of his teeth out in third grade.

Like he needed _anyone_ to show him how to be “treated right.” For Christ’s sakes.

“You’re a fag,” Craig sneered at Clyde, even though it was common knowledge that he was the gayest at their school. “Now everyone’s gonna know.”

“Huhuhuh, yeah, you’re gay,” chimed in a voice from the audience.

“I am _not!_ ” Clyde yelled. “Give that back!”

“No.” Craig had a huge, evil smile on his face as he unfolded the sheet of paper in his hands and read it for everyone to hear, haltingly but loud. “My dearest Tweek.”

Oh no. Oh, god no.

“I dreamed about you last night. We were holding hands. And walking-- around Stark’s Pond. You weren’t even thinking about-- your asshole ex-boyfriend--” It was here that Craig paused, a sour look on his face. Everyone in Tweek’s direct vicinity was looking at him. Did Craig even know he was there?

“Cut it _out!_ ” Clyde shouted, lunging for him. Craig whipped his arm up and held it above his head. Since he was taller than everyone in their class, including Clyde, it was a futile struggle.

“I’m not done reading,” said Craig, and that smile returned to his face. _Ugh._ Tweek really hated him when he had the headgear, but this definitely eclipsed all of that.

“Craig, _stop it!_ ” He angrily shoved his way through the crowd. Craig looked like a deer in headlights. And then his face seemed to crumple.

So he hadn’t known Tweek was there.

Well, _good._

“Uh,” he said, clearly struggling to think of something. “I…”

“You’re a _prick,_ ” Tweek shouted at him. “I will _never_ take you back. _Never ever!_ ”

“But babe,” Craig protested weakly. “It was… it was freaking you out. I had to teach him a lesson.”

“Don’t _babe_ me!” Tweek shoved him. Everyone cheered, except for Clyde. Tweek couldn’t even look at him, didn’t want to see the look on his face. He felt too many things inside at once: pity, disgust (mainly at Craig), confusion, horror, frustration; he couldn’t bring himself to look, now that he finally knew the truth behind those weird letters. He also wasn’t into Clyde at all, so that was going to complicate matters, because he’d have to think of a way to let the guy down easy. “You know _nothing_ about love, Craig! You’re just a selfish prick, like a _child_ who can’t handle sharing his toys! Well, I’ve got news for _you_ , asshole! I’m not your toy, and _I don’t belong to you!_ ”

“Yeah!” Butters shouted from somewhere.

Craig was dead silent. His expression was a mixture of shock, anger, and something else-- something softer, like he was going to burst into tears. Without another word, he dropped the letter, and Tweek snatched it up before anyone else could.

“I hate you,” Craig said, his voice breaking, and then he walked away.

With the climax of the impromptu little play having drawn to a close--except this time it was _real_ \--the crowd was starting to thin out.

“Haha, that was gay.”

“That was so gay, huhuhuh.”

Tweek was shaking again, the moment of passion over. He hurried after Clyde’s retreating back. “ _Aah--ngh_ \-- Clyde, wait! Wait, I’m-- I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that, even if the letters were-- well, they were a little over the top but I-- we can still be--”

“Whoa, whoa.” Clyde held up his hands and took a step back. “Dude, I’m flattered and all, but I’m straight.”

“ _What?!_ ” Tweek yelped. He wasn’t trying to _come onto_ him, Jesus fucking Christ! “I’m not _into you!_ ” he blurted out, angrily.

“Oh.” Clyde laughed. “Boy, that’s a relief.”

“Wait, though!” Tweek said, the letter still dangling from his twitching fingers. “I, _ah!_ If you don’t like me, why’d you, _ngh!_ Why’d you--”

“I didn’t write those,” Clyde said. “I was just the delivery guy. You know, like a middle man or… something.”

Tweek could feel himself start to hyperventilate. This was even worse than having to come up with a way to let Clyde down easy. So his secret admirer, his _stalker_ was still out there, somewhere. Either it was someone really weird, _or_ another friend he’d have to let down easy, but who the Hell else would possibly be into him? Christ, maybe this really was all orchestrated by Craig, the sick fuck, he wanted to humiliate Tweek for breaking up with him. Well, _that_ backfired on him nicely, now didn’t it?

“Uh, I have to go to class now,” said Clyde. “You all right, man? Maybe you should go to the nurse or something.”

“I… _augh_ , I… who, then? Who wrote them?!” He suddenly grabbed Clyde by the front of his jacket. “ _You have to tell me! Aaah!_ ”

“Craig didn’t read the whole letter!” Clyde said, gently but firmly pushing him off. All of Tweek’s friends were used to him doing weird things like that; it didn’t even faze him. “You should finish reading it. That’s all I’m gonna say.” With a wave, he continued onward to class.

“Okay,” Tweek whispered to himself. “Okay. _Waugh!_ I’m just, I’m just gonna read it, and… and then I’m gonna go to class, gonna-- _ah!_ \--g-gonna just, go to class and… and I’ll be okay, this is okay.” He continued to mutter to himself as he headed for the boys’ room.

“Heya, buddy!” Butters cheerfully greeted him from the urinal. “Boy, that was real neat, you stickin’ it to that dumb ol’ Craig…” Tweek ignored him as he locked himself in one of the stalls.

Then a horrible, nauseating thought hit him.

Oh, god.

Please, for the sake of all that’s holy and good, and pure.

Please, don’t let it be from Butters.

He squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a deep breath, and unfolded what was very likely about to become his death sentence.

 

_My dearest Tweek,_

_I dreamed about you last night. We were holding hands and walking around Stark’s Pond. You weren’t even thinking about your asshole ex-boyfriend anymore. I was making you laugh, and you had the cutest smile. I was the happiest I’d ever been._

_It was like that time when we all went to Denver, and you threw up on Craig after riding the roller coaster, and he thought the sight of that stupid thing on his head was what made you sick. And he got angry and pushed you, so hard that he knocked us both over._

_Then I said “I think I just fell for you” and you laughed, but I knew at that moment that I meant it. I'm not the low kind of scum who goes after his friend's boyfriend, but even after you broke up I didn't know how to tell you. So I finally got the idea this week to write those dumb letters. They were supposed to be funny, so I could see you smile again, but I guess it didn’t work out that way. Sorry, pal._

_So, will you go out with me?_

 

_YES                NO_

 

_All the best,_

_Jim_

 

“Oh...!”

Tweek read the letter about ten more times to himself, and by the time he finally folded it up and carefully placed it in his pocket, his smile had grown so big he could feel it splitting his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me. It's fucking cute. You know it's fucking cute.


End file.
